Dark Requiem
by sonsofmogh
Summary: The Dark Lord is ready to put Severus Snape to the test, and Severus is poised to take the opportunity presented to him. However, when he is given his mission that will seal him into the ranks of the Death Eaters for good, doubts begin to spring to the surface. Warnings for violence, character death, and delusional behaviour.


It was only a matter of time.

She was going to turn her back on me — it had been an inevitability — but at least I got to see her in passing. Even when she was slobbering over that simpleton Potter, at least I knew she was still there.

In Potions, she sat at the table right in front of me, so close that I could smell her shampoo. Jasmine. She always smelt of jasmine, which was an almost cruel irony. You see, that tiny little flower is the most potent ingredient in Amortentia, because it induces worship. Whether she purposely chose that particular fragrance and wore it just to rub the fact that she would never willingly speak to me again in my face, or if she merely liked the scent, remains to be seen.

But that is unimportant. What had been the most difficult was the train ride home for the Christmas holidays. It had been somewhat of a tradition for us: on the way back to London, she would talk and I would listen. Then we would find excuses to see each other, and share experiences on the ride back. In truth, it was mostly her talking about her holiday because mine had been absent of interest, but it was an acceptable arrangement. I liked to hear her speak. Even if stories about disgusting jumpers and new quills didn't interest me in the slightest, just the sound of her voice gave me some sort of peace of mind, as if just for a second, I didn't have to be me anymore.

Those days have been gone for years now. During our sixth and seventh years, I still went back to Spinner's End for Christmas, but it wasn't for my parents' company. Just those few times she walked by, herding stray first-years back into their compartments and keeping track of the various misdeeds of the train's occupants, made the journey worthwhile. Her face was at last without that expression of revulsion she normally saved for when she looked at me. She probably never thought about me at all, but my mind was fixated on her enough for the both of us.

The world is different now, and it's a crueller place than I had ever imagined. It moves twice as fast, and it would be pertinent for one to do whatever is necessary to keep it from leaving one behind. It's rather irksome that this seems to have not touched her half as much. She has her precious _boyfriend_, and any thoughts of me have been stricken from her life like a pesky nest of doxies. Christmas for her only keeps getting better, but for me these days, that holiday is simply irrelevant. While she plots how to cook the Christmas turkey, I am left to wonder whether the Dark Lord will choose me.

I do want to be chosen; I had never been chosen for anything in my life. But I also want what the he wants: power. The Dark Lord never misses an opportunity to remind us that there is no right or wrong, that there are only the powerful and those who are unwilling or too weak to become so. Weakness is a disease, spread by good intentions and novel ideals of how the world should be, and I want no part in it. One may postulate that she made me weak and still does, but I firmly believe that each step in the other direction unravels one more thread that has bound me to that loathsome fallacy.

Tonight, though, the twenty-fifth of December, my first without seeing Lily, makes me remember. It had never been something I relished, but her presence was a familiar one. Not this time, however. My night will instead be spent in the company of the Dark Lord so that he may determine how dedicated I am to him. If the result is the correct one, I will be Marked. If not, then there can only be one consequence to come from it, and I would welcome it.

"I trust you realise the significance of the date, Severus."

"I do, my lord," I say guardedly. This is the first time he has spoken to me all night, but I have been prepared for that eventuality even before my arrival. He likes to speak, to feel like he is the only one who is aware of a fact, so I say blankly, "It is Christmas."

From inside the circle, Rabastan Lestrange bellows, "And a jolly holiday it's going to be."

Several present cackle along with him, and even the Dark Lord deigns to give a huff of amusement. I muster a brief chuckle, but laughter is not a normal activity for me. In all honesty, I don't truly comprehend the sort of perverse pleasure in killing and torturing that my associates do; it is merely a necessary means to an end which I have yet to utilise. And that end will come sometime before the night is done, I suspect, judging by the gleam in the Dark Lord's eye. His next words confirm my theory.

"You wish to truly follow me, don't you, boy?"

His face is devoid of any expression after that, though I know there can be only one response. "I do, my lord. I wish it more than anything." He is looking for deception or apprehension in me, but I am a strong enough Occlumens to be sure that he only sees what I want him to see. I am careful to keep my mind solely focussed on my devotion to him and his ideology. His Legilimency is very powerful, though; I can feel it treading on the edges of my mind, almost innocent in its lack of invasiveness.

He knows that I am blocking him out of my innermost thoughts. Not many have this ability — and even fewer dare to use it against him - but I think he values me more for guarding my secrets. He himself is a man who keeps a lot of them. I feel that slight presence evolve into a stronger one, and I'm sure he is testing me. I do not relent.

The Dark Lord considers me for a while, and everyone in the room is silent. Finally, he says, "Your Occlumency is uncommonly strong. Who taught you this skill?"

"No one, my lord," I say. "I had read about it and thought it a valuable skill to possess." It isn't the whole truth, but neither is it a lie. In truth, I am naturally gifted with this skill, but letting him think I learnt it on my own will make him value my ingenuity and desire for power. It is not as if he will ever know otherwise.

Nodding in approval, the Dark Lord has moved on from the subject. "Very well, then. I shall endeavour to remember your acumen in the future. This skill can serve me well."

I am relieved. He is sure that I will pass whatever test he sees fit to put before me. "Indeed, my lord," I say in earnest. "I would be happy to serve you in any way I can."

"Excellent," he says. "I happen to have a task for you."

He is looking at me very intently, and I am nervous for a moment, but I dare not let it show on my face. "Anything," I reply.

"I have been told by Avery and Travers that in your time at Hogwarts, you consorted with a Mudblood by the name of Lily Evans. Would this be correct?"

For the barest of seconds, my heart stops. I am sure I have betrayed some of my apprehension at the sound of Lily's name by the way the Dark Lord's lip curled into the slightest knowing smile. However, I recover from my momentary lapse and say, "It is, my lord. And though I had found her physically attractive, I did part company with the Mudblood quite some time ago. It became increasingly apparent that she was of the wrong sort." It feels wrong to malign Lily, but failure to do so may very well earn me a punishment that is far more undesirable.

I am not sure whether he believes me or not, but after some consideration, he accepts my answer. "It is unfortunate that you associated with such a disgusting creature, but you have seen the error in your ways and are prepared to rectify it."

"I am, my lord. More than anything."

"Then tonight, you will find her family and you will exterminate them. If you can complete this task, then I will know that you have been washed clean of her Muggle stink, and you will be worthy to truly serve me."

I am at a loss. The Dark Lord wishes me to murder William and Mary Evans. I am not concerned for their fates, especially if I am given a chance to repay Petunia Evans for her _kindness_, but somehow, the fact that this will hurt Lily deeply makes me hesitate. I do not want to deny the challenge, but I do wish that it had been anything else but that. Knowing that the wrong answer will be my death warrant, I say, "Very well, my lord. I will leave straightaway if it is what you desire."

"It is." The matter seems to be closed for him, and he turns his attention to Bellatrix Lestrange, who has decided to regale the congregation with tales of her last raid on a Mudblood's home. I vaguely recognise the name, but it is of no import to me as I stand and bow to the Dark Lord before leaving.

His voice stops me just as I am about to step out the door. "Oh, and Severus... take Dolohov with you."

I remember it well, the Evans abode. Lily's window is the one on the left upstairs, and I recall several times when I had left my own house at night to stand outside looking at it. But that doesn't matter, and those days are long past. Now I have a more important purpose.

"Having second thoughts, boy?" Dolohov says. There is contempt in his voice, which I have come to expect from the older Death Eaters. They are all of pure blood, and my half-blood status is beneath theirs. The Dark Lord doesn't hold my status against me because of my loyal service, which is all that keeps them from acting on their annoyance.

"No," I say, not entirely truthfully. I do have second thoughts, but they are quickly squelched by my sense of self-preservation. I think for a second that he does not believe me, but when I betray nothing, he turns his attention back to the Evans house.

Dolohov looks at me, and it is clear that he doesn't trust me. Whether it is because his blood is purer than mine or because I used to consort with a Mudblood, I don't know, but he knows that, as the Dark Lord has shown me favour, he must treat me with a modicum of respect.

"Shall we proceed?" I say, knowing that it is up to me to carry out everything. He is only there to make sure I do as instructed.

Nodding curtly, Dolohov gestures toward the house. "She's all yours."

The longer I wait, the more likely it is that Dolohov will tell the Dark Lord that I hesitated, so I quickly Disillusion myself and move toward the door. Putting the tip of my wand on the bolt, I think '_Alohomora_', and the lock clicks open. I shut the door as quietly as I can and start creeping up the stairs, careful to stay to the outside of the steps to avoid causing any creaking.

But Dolohov has other ideas. I cringe as the door crashes open and closed again. He bellows, "Wake up, Muggle scum!"

I know why he does this; I had come with the intention of quietly killing my targets, but Dolohov wants me to look at their faces, to watch as their eyes die. He wants to see me enjoy exterminating Muggle filth as one would casually swat a fly. I don't care about Muggles and have no qualms about wiping them from the face of the earth; it is simply unfortunate that it has to be _these_ Muggles.

There are sounds coming from up the stairs: first the murmur of conversation and then the squeaking of footsteps crossing the floor toward the stairs. The first strides are slower and heavier, followed by ones which are lighter and quicker, and as they approach, the voices become more distinct. Then the heavier steps start down the stairs.

It is not until now that I realise that I have been backing down the stairs this entire time, but when my back collides with Dolohov's steely form, I know that I have failed the first of my tests. I dare not do it again, so I hold my ground this time.

I see William before he sees me, as my eyes are better adjusted to the scant illumination given off by the Christmas tree in the next room. He is carrying an old cricket bat as he descends, but he stops when he recognises me.

"What are you doing in my house, boy?" William growled. "Lily's not here, and she doesn't want to talk to you." It does not take long for him to notice Dolohov, who is far more physically intimidating than myself, and he grips the bat tighter. "Who's your friend, Snape?"

"Shut up, Muggle filth!" I say through clenched teeth, trying not to let his comment about Lily bother me. I cannot err further in front of Dolohov. "He is here to bear witness to my loyalty to the Dark Lord."

"Lily said there was a war going on." There is a tone which I all too sharply recall as he retorts, "It figures that you're one of the bad lot, Snape."

Petunia had always spoken to me with similar scorn, and it is because of this that I now have no qualms with what I'm about to do. I raise my wand and say, "Foolishness seems to run in your family, Evans. First your daughter turns down her only chance to come out of this war alive, and now, you fool yourself into believing that your pathetic little insults can save you from an armed wizard."

I flick my wand, and in an instant, William is hanging upside-down over the stairs. "Your judgment leaves something to be desired," I mock as the man begins to whimper. His fear elicits a chuckle from Dolohov, but more noticeably, I feel something inside of myself change as the doddering old fool began to beg for his life.

Power. I feel dominion over this stupid Muggle, and it is more potent than any drug or potion. This lithe dominion stretches its way through me, much like what casting the Cruciatus is supposed to feel like; the sound of Mary's screams at the top of the stairs only kindles this newfound fascination of mine.

But my concentration is interrupted by the sight of one thing capable of stealing my euphoria: a portrait of Lily on the wall. My hand falls to my side as I subconsciously ascend toward it. The dull thud of William's body falling to the stairs is of no concern to me, nor Mary's scramble to be by his side. I hear sobbing and mewling babble, yet I cannot concern myself with it.

Lily had seen me. Lily had watched me break her father's neck and kill him. She is watching me now, as if her picture was enchanted to move as if it is not some paltry Muggle artefact, but instead a true rendition, the frame a window through which she is peering. Her expression doesn't change; it is the same knowing smile that had been there before, when her childhood home was still asleep in the snow.

She knows, I am sure of it. Somewhere, wherever Lily is, likely fornicating with that arrogant moron Potter, she knows what I have done, what I will do, and sees the necessity of it. Ever pragmatic Lily forgives me for killing her father, for surely she knows the fate that will await me should I fail to finish off her mother, as well.

I am forgiven.

The Dark Lord has been in converse with Dolohov for several minutes, discussing the events of our sojourn earlier. I did what I had set out to do: William and Mary Evans are very much dead, both by my hand. I am remorseless about it and will never be implicated; the only judgment of my action lies behind the closed doors that I watch unbothered.

After nearly a half hour, Dolohov emerges from the Dark Lord's private sanctuary and says, "My lord will see you now."

I knew no fear. Armed with Lily's understanding and my Occlumency, the Dark Lord will have no fault to find in me, for I will give him none. It is with that assurance that I walk through the door and kneel at his feet.

"You wished to see me, my lord."

He considers me carefully. This is what he does when he is trying to intimidate someone into divulging their secrets, merely due to the discomfort he can incite. I will give him nothing, and he knows it. I expect the smile that creeps across his face, the arc of approval of my actions.

"I wasn't entirely certain of your loyalty before this night, Severus, but Dolohov tells me that you caught sight of the Mudblood's picture. Instead of succumbing to temptation, you carried out your duty in due course. It is for that reason..." Extracting his wand, the Dark Lord continues, "...that I shall grant you the highest of honours."

For an instant, I think that he may kill me, but his last words relieve my apprehension. "Thank you, my lord," I say as I gradually extend my left arm.

"You presume, Severus. How do you know I simply will not gift you with praise, or perhaps the privilege of carrying out my next order of business?"

This is my final test. He is attempting to scare me, to humble me, but I am past that. I am no pathetic, wailing child; I am tried, I am proven, I am a man. It is with this knowledge that I reply, "Because I am worthy to serve you and to pledge myself to you and your ends. And as you have already stated, I am to be granted the highest honour. To me, there is none."

I may have imagined it, but I am sure I see a slight nod of acknowledgment from him as he pulls back my sleeve. "Indeed, there is not, Severus." His wand traces a slow trail along my forearm as he murmurs, "_Proteus atrum_."

The figure of the skull and snake spills from his wand tip onto my flesh. I am surprised at the lack of pain, for if the Dark Lord enjoys nothing else, he loves to inflict pain — even unto his own followers. I had never witnessed this event before, but I simply assume that it should feel different than this.

My concerns are quickly answered when he pulls out a phial of a milky, white fluid. He removes the stopper and pours it onto the still-forming tattoo, and now I feel that pain. It is like a flame burning from my very marrow and grafting into my very essence, and it takes every modicum of restraint I have to remain silent as the fire raged and slowly died down.

Sweat trickles down my face, but my face is as devoid of expression as I can possibly manage through the solicited agony of the Mark. He sees my effort and is satisfied with the results. He leans toward my ear and whispers, "I have seen who you truly are, and you are of me, and you will burn for me, Severus Snape. At my every whim, your body will burn until you stand in my presence."

And then I am alone as a distant bell tolls midnight.


End file.
